


In Life And Death I'm Love's Fool

by jungle_ride



Category: Othello - Shakespeare
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27451417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jungle_ride/pseuds/jungle_ride
Summary: It hadn’t started like this, Emilia thinks as Iago pulls out his blade and the thick hot liquid begins to pour from her open wound.
Relationships: Emilia/Iago
Collections: Stage of Fools 2020





	In Life And Death I'm Love's Fool

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ragueneau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragueneau/gifts).



As the sword sinks into her flesh and a flash of searing pain pierces through her body Emilia gasps involuntarily. Her back arches, her body automatically curling into that of her assailant's, as if on impulse, or perhaps habit. The man that only a few moments ago was known to her as husband now stands behind her a ruined wrecked creature, his soul a twisted source of macabre, deceit and murder, as he fights against the ghost of a nose already tight around his throat. 

It hadn’t started like this, Emilia thinks as Iago pulls out his blade and the thick hot liquid begins to pour from her open wound. Emilia’s and Iago’s marital relationship for too long has been one of barbed remarks and cruelty. In reality this end should not have surprised her. After all, hadn’t it been her own cynical brain that had dreamed of such things on those nights when the heated disdain would boil beneath both their skin, leading to rough forceful touches that seared the flesh and sparked a fire inside them that was only seated in ways her soft and gentle mistresses would never have understood. Though Emilia will admit she had thought one day that they might take each other in a crime of passion, she had not envisioned this. Hers had been a vision of tangled limbs, scratched skin and bloodied lips. Then again, wasn’t this too just that, a crime of a passion that ran too high and too hot, just presented in a different fashion? 

Emilia is not sure if she wants to laugh, scream or cry as the thought flickers through her mind, her emotions swirling inside her like a storm not yet reached its peak. She attempts to make a sound but only splutters, blood trickling out from the sides of her mouth. With the last of her strength she begs to be laid by her mistress' side. Iago has disappeared and as they lay her on the bed, Emilia’s thoughts drift and ebb, blurring the past with the present. She wants to think of nothing and yet she can not stop her mind from focusing on her husband, her murderer. Thiers had been a twisted love, the world manipulating it beyond all recognition from its origin. 

Emilia had endured more than her share of Iago’s sharp tongue and curt ruthlessness. In return she had offered her own, berating him in any way she could, even going so far as to claim she would happily commit adultery for the right price. Even then though, despite her discord with her husband and outward apparent dismissal of his behaviour Emilia had always harbored the secret hope that the Iago she had once known, the youthful man who had swept her off her feet and into his arms quicker than a serpent catches their prey, would return to her once more. After all, hadn’t that been her reason for taking the handkerchief in the first place, in hopes that his affection would return, as it had once been.

Emilia had played her role well, pretending Iago’s words had deflected from her hardened skin, causing no infliction or pain. She was of course not the soft flower  Desdemona had been  and yet inside her heart Emilia had been just as loyal and true to her husband, no matter what he might have conjured in his own warped perceptions. Emilia had harbored her love for Iago, like a lone candle in the dark of a forgotten forest. The wind had whipped around it merciless and yet it had endured. Although she had been abused and taken for granted, just like her husband Emilia too could place a mask upon her face and hide her true self from the world. How quick Iago had forgotten the reasons she had won his heart in the first place. 

Iago had fallen for her mind, long before her body had become his. Emilia wonders what that means for her character. Where would her soul land in death. After all Iago has now revealed himself to be a deceitful, manipulative snake. An evil was harbored in his soul and Emilia can’t help but wonder if he had been that way all along and if this was indeed his true nature what did it mean that such a man had loved her. Because no matter what Iago may claim, or what had become of them, they had loved one another. 

She thinks back to the way Iago had once been in the presence of others. How Iago’s eyes would light up at the sight of her. How his lips would form a smirk of pride and approval when she would speak her mind in the presences of others. Emilia can still feel the arm that would wrap around her waist as he pulled her closer to him, tucking her into his side as if to proclaim to the world ‘how lucky am I that she is mine.’ Now where his palm would once rest, is the wound his sword had made, as her life pours from her. Emilia had been his, in every way she could, and even now, in death she is his. 

Emilia curses herself, as the blood continues to spill unnaturally from her body, staining once white sheets a glaring red. If she could muster up the effort to speak she would curse the day she ever met Iago, and yet even as she thinks the words she hears the lie. Feels her heart clench in her chest as images of past nights of gentle and loving caresses flash before her. She feels the ghost of his hand around her neck, fingertips clutching possessively at the skin of her jawline as his lips pressed firmly to hers, bruising but sweet as he claimed them over and over. She hears his breath hot and heavy against her ear as his past whispered words of affections fill her mind and she can’t help it, she wants still, even now as the shadow of death comes to claim her. 

Emilia hates herself for it as she lies dying next to her murdered mistress, whose death lays heavy on her heart. More so as she knew her own fruitless hopes and manipulated heart had played a role in her demise. Even more so when she thinks how faithful and sweet the love her fair mistresses had born. They might both be dying from love, but unlike her own Desdemona’s love had been as pure as angels. The world had not transformed it from bitterness and cynicism. With her final breath Emilia laments upon it, letting her husband claim her body but the purity of her mistresses love to take her soul.

“So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true;

So speaking as I think, I die, I die” 


End file.
